


Simple Pleasures

by JantoJones



Series: Modest Briefings (The 2nd 100) [37]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 18:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17813009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: Written for the Section VII (LiveJournal) HODOWE challenge (Holidays of Dubious Origins Writing Event).Prompt - Random Acts of Kindness Day





	Simple Pleasures

Despondency was the order of the day for the top team of U.N.C.L.E. New York. Following a week of dead-end leads, false intelligence, and the uncovering of a mole within headquarters, neither Napoleon, nor Illya, was feeling particularly upbeat. It felt as though everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

For almost twenty minutes the pair had been sitting in silence at a local diner; each nursing a cup of coffee which had long since gone cold. Napoleon hadn’t even taken an interest in the new waitress who, with her ample assets and inviting lips, was very much his type.

“Things could be worse,” stated Napoleon, in an unnecessary, and forced, tone of jollity; a hopelessly doomed attempt to pick up the mood.

“How so?” queried Illya ,a little bitterly.

He was in no mood for Napoleon’s brand of, often irritating, positivity. Ordinarily, he had no real problem with it, and usually let it flow over him but, right at that moment, he was content to wallow in self-pity.

“Well. Neither of us has had a brush with death this week,” Solo told him. “And you’ve even managed to get through entirely intact. No scratches, bruises, broken bones, Thrush serums...”

“I do not get hurt every week,” the Russian cut him off, somewhat indignantly. “You make it sound like I am never out of medical.” 

Thinking about it though, he couldn’t deny that it seemed to happen more often than one would expect; even given his line of work. Plus, for some reason, he always received it worse that his partner, whose usual concern at the end of a mission was another damaged suit. If it wasn’t for the fact he didn’t believe such things, he could almost be convinced that there was some higher power that enjoyed him suffering.

The men lapsed back into silence and they both stared out of the window. Outside, a cold, grey drizzle wet the pavements. The weather suited the atmosphere in the agent’s booth. Their reverie was interrupted by the owner of the diner putting a piece of apple pie in front of each of them, and fresh cups of coffee.

“We did not order this, Joe,” Illya told the man.

Joe knew many of the agents from U.N.C.L.E., as he was a retired member of Section 3 himself. Although he had technically left the command, he was still also on the payroll as a civilian informant. Also, his diner was the closest to headquarters, so had naturally become the go to place for those who didn’t want to use the commissary.

“These are on me,” Joe replied. “You both look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, and it must be bad if even the ever-positive Napoleon Solo can’t raise a smile. Or his libido around my new girl, Fiona, for that matter.”

“Just one of those weeks,” Solo answered, flatly.

“Well, I doubt I can help you with any of it but, nothing can be so bad while there’s apple pie in the world.”

Illya picked up his fork and shovelled a large amount into his mouth. Within two seconds a slight smile appeared on his face. He took another bite, and began to grin.

“This is the best apple pie in America,” he decalred.

“Just America,” Solo asked. “Not the World?”

“Nothing can beat Austrian Apfelstrudel.”

Tucking into his own piece, Napoleon had to agree that it was indeed delicious.

“Though not quite as nice as my grandmothers,” he said.

As they ate, both men thought over the week they’d had. It hadn’t been their best, but neither had it been their worst. All they could do was pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and get back into the fray. As soon as they finished, headed back to the office and, on the way out of the diner, Napoleon made sure to get Fiona’s number.

It was the simple pleasures which made life worth living.


End file.
